


Salty Caramel Swing

by Kissa



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Suspension Of Disbelief, cosmic alignment, fangirl dream, luck, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissa/pseuds/Kissa
Summary: What if you were so airheaded that you forgot entering a giveaway, because you never win? And then you won?





	1. The Coat Off His Back

Your doorbell rang and as usual, you ignored it.  
  
Only serial killers and neighbours wanting favours would ring at this hour.  
  
And it rang again, this time with an edge of exasperation to it.  
  
You almost ignored it again, only this time the sound of the doorbell was followed by a small whine.  
  
What if it was a kid? Fuck them. Evil people always use kid sounds to lure women out.  
  
But it wasn’t a kid! It sounded more like a… like a puppy! And because sociopaths are lazy and think in stereotypes, they would not know that you had a bigger soft spot for small animals than for kids. You put on a house robe and went to open, looking down, expecting to see the source of that whine.  
  
Except when you looked at your welcome mat, there was no small puppy. Just a grown up dog (although technically, all dogs are puppies) with golden and white fur, sitting cutely on his butt, and a pair of booted man feet at the end of long man legs.  
  
You looked up to where the man ended and let out a scream.  
  
How many ibuprofen pills had you taken to be hallucinating so hard?!  
  
“Please don’t slam the door.” The man spoke and you instantly recognised the voice. It was unmistakable.  
  
You sighed and moved aside, only then realizing that you had been slipping in and out of consciousness for most of the day, you had not showered or shaved your legs yet and you had not done your hair. The fact that he hadn’t hightailed it yet was nothing short of miraculous.  
  
And yet, Chris fucking Evans was standing in your hallway, looking like a trillion bucks and smiling shyly.  
  
_Fuck’s sake, just how much ibuprofen did I take?_  
  
“Sorry. I genuinely was not expecting anyone.” You said. “This is a lot to take in.”  
  
“Didn’t you get the emails?” He asked, taking off his boots and putting them neatly next to the amorphous pile of shoes and dust bunnies you had in a corner near the entrance.  
  
“Uh… no. What emails? I mean… I remember entering a giveaway to win that jacket and that shirt you’re wearing, I don’t remember anything saying you’d be in them or that I won…”  
  
“Do you never read the fine print?” Chris asked. “How did you make it to this age?!”  
  
“Look around you. Not exactly the picture of success.” You said. “I mean, to be honest, I can’t complain on the career front, but on the private one… it’s hard.”  
  
_Why am I making casual small talk? I'd punch myself if I wasn't in shock right now. Awww hell no, he's genuinely caring. I am so fucked._  
  
“Believe it or not, I can relate. This,” Chris said, pointing at his gorgeous, styled to perfection self, “is not who gets out of bed in the mornings. Or whom my Ma picks up from under the walnut tree in the garden, to the tune of twelve wasted bottles of Stella. Speaking of which, I don’t wanna waste your time - are you alright with me moving in for a week and following you around? Or should I leave the shirt and jacket and go to my hotel?”  
  
This was surreal. Usually the small print damns you, gives Satan power over your eternal soul of some shit… but then again, is Chris Evans not in your living room, and does he not own your soul?  
  
You now remember you had to submit a short personal presentation video for entering the giveaway.

“Who picked the winner?” You asked. “Have a seat. And oh, that’s Poirot. I see Dodger’s already introduced himself.”

Your big, fat black cat is lounging on top of the furry guest, Dodger having made himself at home on your sofa.  
  
“That is a fuckin’ huge cat if I ever saw one. Does he bite?” Chris asked.   
  
“Cats don’t bite unless you go all up in their business and upset them a lot. Dodger knows.” You said, still not believing you were standing in your living room, with your unshowered self entertaining Chris Evans as your guest.  “Of course you can stay. You can have the guest room, I’ll prepare it for you. I have two bathrooms so it won’t be a big deal. But you’re going to have to live with my choice of breakfast because I’m not cooking twice. I guess you’ll live, considering you’ve not run away screaming yet.”   
  
“That’ll do! I don’t know why everyone assumes I’m this boujee prick. I knew what I was signing up for. And to answer your question, I picked the winner. I liked you and I liked your house from the video.”

“Well, then, thanks. I never win anything so this is huge. Do I really get to keep the jacket and shirt? Because damn they are fine, that Rolling Stone shoot was _**the** shit_.”   
  
Chris laughed.   
  
“Considering how much they made me do and how they nearly had me do the Flashdance audition scene with that one crate as a prop, you’re welcome. Your enthusiasm for the end result makes that long, long day very worth it.”   
  
_Oh shit, you think. This week is going to be very long and very short, I predict. Also, I'm never washing that coat or that shirt. That shirt touched his- oh fuck don't look there. Bloody hell._


	2. Pleb privileges (are small)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris is settling in and getting a first taste of life in a town where no one gives a shit about fuck.

He looks very different than in the shoot though. He’s recently shaved his head and the hair only grew back minimally, while his beard is slightly longer and neatly trimmed.  
And now that he’s taken off the coat, seeing him like that *and* in the muscle tank is pretty deadly.

“Let me phone someone to bring my stuff and then I’m all yours.” He said and made a short phone call. You left him alone in the living room so he can talk in peace, and went to put on panties and some clothes, combing your hair and washing your face before putting on some moisturizer.

When you went back to the living room, you found Chris stereo-petting the dog and cat, kneeling in front of them, next to the sofa and telling them both how good they are.

This sight alone made all the shit moments in life fully worth it.

“Sorry you caught me on the wrong foot. I’ve been dealing with a migraine for the past days… I’m better now but I was drugged off my tits and it took a while to wear off. I’m about to go buy some things for dinner, wanna come along?”

“I’d love to, but I need to wait for my assistant to bring me my stuff.” Chris said and just as he was getting ready to add something, his phone rang. “Hold that thought,” He said and ran outside, not before telling Dodger to stay.

He returned with a backpack and a small travel case on wheels.

“Let me show you to your room,” you said and led the way to your spare room, which is part guest bedroom, part storage for your makeup hoard.

“Whoa. Fuck me that’s a lot of… what are those?” Chris exclaimed when faced with the wall of plastic shelving housing a few hundred palettes.

  
“Those? Oh. I hoard makeup. I know it’s bad but I love playing with the colours, dousing myself in glitter and in all the shades it comes in. It’s a reliable source of joy when I need some. And there are a lot of times when I do need some.” You shrugged.

“Hey, you don’t have to justify yourself and your passions to me. I’m kinda scared of glitter and I don’t even know why. Maybe you can show me what you do with it?”

“Sure. But once we get back from shopping.”

“Uh so what are we taking to get there? I didn’t bring a car.” Chris said, looking awkward.

“We’re walking. It’s not far.”

“Oh that’s right. I forgot it’s different around here.” He said, then, ten minutes into the walk: “It IS far!”

You laughed.

“And oh shit. I don’t speak the language.” Chris complained again. “What do I do, what do I say?”

“Relax. I’m shopping, you’re only along for the walk.”

“You gotta let me give you some money for it. I mean, since you totally missed out on my team’s emails, I’m just some dude who dropped in on you and eats your food for a week.”

“If it makes you feel better? But I’m pretty well off. Shopping for two won’t take me into the rubber shovel.”

“Rubber shovel? What’s that?”

“Oh. Sorry. Phrase for being broke.”

And it’s fucking unnerving how the one man who sets a fire in places you usually would rather forget you had shows up on your doorstep out of the fucking blue and you hit it off like you’ve been friends for a lifetime. There’s awkwardness and fidgeting on both sides, but there’s also warmth and effortless rapport. It must be him, because your default self is a very effective people repellent.

“I love how your cat and my dog just made friends from the get-go.” Chris commented. “Maybe I’m gonna learn some cat manners and catch up to my dog who is more worldly than me it would seem.”

“You bet you will. Although Poirot is very distant and shows his affection in very considerate ways. He prefers to love me from afar, although his sentiments are very clear. I love that.”

Due to how isolated and in their own world everyone is, no one at the store notices you’ve got Chris Evans tagging along. No one told them to look, so they don’t see. Also, he has a cap on.

“Man, that was a long walk.” Chris said as you let him into your house again. He offered to carry one of the tote bags full of groceries you got. “I guess I’m no longer used to going outside without being stopped every ten yards.”

“It gets old really quickly. Do you know why everyone is so obsessed with celebrities and why everyone wants to be famous? It’s because as a pleb, just staying in your lane and contributing to society isn’t enough to earn you respect. And everyone sees how much nicer everyone is to celebs… and they want that, but not the dark side with the harassment and people thinking they own you because they bought a ticket to your movie.”

“Yeah I never thought about it like that. I just think everyone is too entitled and they like, expect unrealistic shit. But I’ve been in the biz long enough to learn how to ignore and fend them off when needed.” Chris said, shrugging. “I’m not complaining… It’s a sweet deal, in total.”

“Well done, you!” You said, giving him a grin. No extra points for simply being decent. But you were happy he had a good head on his shoulders and not just something pretty so the torso doesn’t end too suddenly.

As you whipped up a delicious meal in no-time, Chris sat at the kitchen table and kept you company, sometimes passing you a utensil or helping with something small.

“How come you never wanted fame? I saw you’re a pretty well off writer and I read two of your books on the flight here… you could be huge. I know people in Hollywood who would beg and crawl to have the rights to make movies after your books.”

“Maybe at some point I will go that route. Who knows. But generally speaking, people are such pains in the ass mostly. I considered becoming a director initially, but then I thought how much I would depend on others every step of the way… like this, I have a few key contact people with whom I deal and that’s it. The rest is optional.” You said and plated the food, serving it and sitting down opposite Chris at the table.

“Mmm, fuck this is so yum! It’s like… you’re so competent around the kitchen and you make cooking look easy… and the food is tasty it’s like I’m back at my Ma’s.” Chris said, inhaling half his portion as he spoke (a skill which is second nature to most Italians and Eastern Europeans).

You raised an eyebrow.

Did he just compare me to Lisa? Is that good-good, or actually bad?

“I mean… no, no no that’s not what I- fuck, I’m sorry,” he said, once his own words sank in. “Actually, you know what? I’m not sorry. Cooking is fuckin’ amazing. And my Ma is the best so the fact you made me feel just like home is nothing short of magical. So there. It’s a compliment, even though I can’t express myself properly to save my life.”

“Would you like some more?” You asked, eyeing his now empty plate. You then nodded. “I got the gist of it. From what I gathered, your mother is a superwoman and I’m flattered.”

“Why do I feel so fuckin’ flustered when I talk to you? I can talk to women. You must think the rumours are true and I’m a supreme mess.” Chris said, sighing. “And yes, I’d like more please.”

You served some seconds for him and for you, then ask what has been gnawing at you since Chris got here.

“So, what’s in it for you?” You asked. “It’s impossible to get a hold of a famous person on social media, let alone get five minutes in real life, and you just up and fuck off to Europe to hang out with a pleb?”

“Yeah, uh, I usually don’t talk to strangers online because it always goes horribly wrong. Every single fucking time.” Chris said. “But I wanted to meet someone new in a sort of… controlled way. Not like a sort of Big Brother meets Speed Dating, but… lately I became so afraid of the world out there and I wanted to show myself that while the crazies are the loudest, they’re not the majority. I was fully prepared to be told to leave, because it’s very unlikely for someone to just have time for you and fit you in their lives even if only for one week.”

“Yeah, well I guess you chose me because I work from home and stuff… you risked a lot though… What if I was one of those stay at home moms with twins and triplets, watching reality shows and downing wine directly from the carton?”

“I would have rolled up my sleeves and offered to help. At this moment in time, I need change so desperately and albeit convoluted, this was the only acceptable way to get that I saw.” Chris said, sounding apologetic.

“How about we document this week together? Maybe if you have video of it, you’ll gather your thoughts and flex your creative muscle… come up with an idea for a short film or something."


	3. 2 People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris makes himself comfortable at your place and the cohabitation gives rise to all sorts of new trains of thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a deep house song by Jean jacques Smoothie from 2001 and it totally dictated the vibe of this chapter.

“You’d do that?” Chris asked, his eyes getting bigger and rounder. “You sure you don’t mind?”   
  
“I’ll give it to you in writing.” You said, shrugging. “I wanna see what comes out of it.”

You didn’t have to wait long before the Question came.   
  
“So… are you seeing anyone?”   
  
“Nah.” You answered. “Gave up.”   
  
“So early?”   
  
“Mental health doesn’t make it any easier. And people around here are… hm. Not good candidates. Besides, people in general love to play games. Pretend they’re interested when they’re not because they need a plus one to go to a wedding with or whatever other self-absorbed reason, take your pick. And I fucking hate games when it comes to love. You either want me or you don’t. I’m not a t-shirt that doesn’t fit.”

“I can actually see the point, but God… I guess that makes the one night stands a lot lonelier.” Chris said.   
  
“What one night stands? The downstairs and I are in agreement.”

“See, I couldn’t pull that off.”  
  
“You could, you were just taught not having sex is the most terrible fate a man could suffer.”

“I’ll take it. Alright.” Chris gave back, thinking. “Though I’m a good boy when I work. And the rest of the time. I don’t cheat. But also, I don’t get attached. For me, people are good. I see good in them.But they’re also scared - that they’re missing out, falling behind, being judged and found lacking.”  
  
“Yeah, so much is obvious from your public interactions. You’re not opposed to letting this or that person make a buck off of you. Or some sweet sweet exposure.”   
  
Chris shrugged and sighed.   
  
“We were all beginners at some point, having all the doors slammed in our faces. It’s nice to give back when you can.”   
  
“It’s not the beginners who betray your loyalty though, are they? It’s the people you’ve known for years and whom you’ve had the time to think of as solid.”

“Yeah… funny, huh? I guess the gratitude goes away when the self-sufficiency sets in. But I keep hoping that among all the Judases, there’s some good people too. I also noticed how smoothly you transitioned us away from the love life questions. Smooth. Very smooth.”  
  
  
***  
  
  
This is how the days go by for you and Chris.   
  
He sleeps until later and you hear him yawn loudly as he goes and pees with a lot of clatter and noise before going into the shower.   
  
When he comes to the kitchen, shirtless and in a flimsy pair of lounge pants that cling to his hips and serve massive dickprint, you try not to look, but he’s right there, _it_  is right there in your face and that’s the closest you’ve been to a dick in a long time so why discount the experience by pretending it didn’t happen? On top of that, you’re not his girlfriend and he’s a guest in your house so he deserves to feel safe.   
  
_Let the boy flap in peace_ , you tell yourself, _like you don’t walk around naked when you’re gathering candles to set up a nice bath? Let the boy feel comfortable at your place._ _  
_   
_OK tho_ , says the dark side of you, _he be looking like a snack! Thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did._   
  
And you turn around to stir the oatmeal or flip the pancake because that’s what’s poppin’ at your place.

What sort of person looks at the dickprint to avoid looking at the tattoos? The Tolle one, that gets all the fans flooding the hallways, is so smudged you need to use your intuition to make out what it says because it’s unreadable. It’s not like the man can’t afford good ink. But it doesn’t matter because he wears those tattoos well. And that’s definitely preferable to a mousy person who’s being worn by the tattoos. You’ve seen a few of those too.

When he’s got his back to you and reaches into your cupboard for the brown sugar, his back and the art on it stretch in a drawn-out feline motion. Now your mouth goes dry.   
  
It’s not just the movement in itself but the glimpse of that large inked expanse evokes a picture of him shirtless, leaning forward, shining with a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion of the few thousand micro stings. Maybe panting. His lips redder than usual as he breathes audibly through his mouth and through clenched teeth.   
  
From there, it’s just a jump to the scene change, to a place where Chris is still prostrate and panting and you’re the cause of it. Now that’s a whole world you didn’t mean to unlock, but you’re damn happy you did.

Back in the real world, you control yourself and carry on doing normal people things and serving breakfast.   
  
The kitchen radio decides it’s too peaceful at your house and plays one of the hits of the day, something with nonsensical lyrics over a good beat.   
  
While you condemn the lyrical content, your butt appreciates the bounce.

Chris sees that and smiles.   
  
“You know, that’s not my kind of music, but I love that it makes girls dance. I can never relate to the lyrics. They make me feel either super old or dumb. Like what the hell is Ariana even saying in this song?!”

“Uhm, the song is about how the pussy is so good you’ll think you saw God.”   
  
He looks at you with eyes the size of saucers for a moment and as the blood suffuses his cheeks, you feel yours going to your head and rattling in your ears.   
  
“I should have perhaps put that more politely.” You say. “I’m sorry. It’s just that… you’re here for a week and I keep forgetting we haven’t grown up together and spent our whole lives being thick as thieves.”   
  
He laughs, doing that slap on the boob thing of his. On his own pec.  
  
“It’s alright, I’m not some seven PhD guy.” He says. “It was just such a candid moment. I could tell your mouth was like ‘I got it! I’ll take this one!’ before the brain even had the chance to censor the words. It happens to me all the time. Sometimes, with a bunch of mics in front of me or in an interview. Those fuck-ups live forever. So no worries. It was just funny as hell. And… now that you explained it, I get it too.”   
  
“I don’t only listen to radio hits. But lately it’s been hard to keep my mood high and I do what I can to help my mind stay on track.”   
  
“No, no worries, I get it. I listen to radio hits too… at home, I blast them in my car. No one wants to ride with me because I sing along with my head out the window. I think even Dodger is like ‘I’m not with this idiot’ in the back seat.” 

The tenderness this man has for his doggo is so moving and the fact he doesn’t cover it or ridicule it is so so sweet.   
  
Then after breakfast, the three of you, humans and dog, go for a run and a frisbee game on the green lawn along the river bank.   
  
Chris runs around barefoot in the grass and Dodger’s tongue is fluttering out the side of his snout while he runs. They look happy. In this moment, it seems so surreally easy.   
  
None of the locals recognize him or come to bother him.   
  
After the running and playing, you walk together to the open air market to get infused water and to get a bowl for the pupper as well. You return from there with matching caps in cornflower blue.

Next thing you know, you’re debating animatedly with Chris whether it’s “bougie” or “boujee” and it comes to punches. Not real ones, but you’re wrestling in the grass and Dodger is trying to get you to separate, which makes for the most improbable scene where two grown-ups are acting like little kids and the one dog present is trying to be the adult.  
  
Now happiness is effortless and abundant. If only it could bottled for later use.

 


	4. Comparing Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris finally gets to hear some uncomfortable answers from angles he usually avoids considering. Kinda heavy for a light week of fun with a fan!

The dreaded end to the week is nearing and Chris is just as reluctant to pack up and leave as you are to let him go.    
  
You got used to having someone in the house, someone who is nice to your cat and who comes as a package deal with the sweetest dog ever.    
  
You got used to being surprised with chocolate and ice cream and it’s damn nice that someone made a bit of an effort and remembered what your favourite flavours are. Cooking together is great too, and so is dancing around the kitchen to the sound of radio hits.    
  
It’s a shitty thought to have, but you can’t help but calculate how much sex you’d have to have with another person to get this kind of coziness and consideration from them. Or how many failed dates and relationships you’d have to blow through until you find someone who doesn’t withhold the good stuff until they made sure they have you tied down under their shoe. 

But of course, good things do exist and they are right here, close, right under your nose and within reach… but you’re the little girl with the matchsticks, watching people be comfy and warm inside through a dirty window while you freeze in the cold outside. Without being too dramatic, life has always been showing you what you could have, but never let you slip into the fantasy setting and make it real for yourself.

Having Chris around feels like a wizard turned a lazy housecat into a man and sent him to your house. Otherwise why would he be so cuddly and ask for pets from a virtual stranger? Why would he snuggle with you on the sofa, while Poirot lounges on the backrest and Dodger stretches across both your laps? One does not simply get this cozy and touchy-feely with a stranger from across the globe.    
  
But you’re happy Chris doesn’t care about the things that your mind loves to fret over.    
  
It’s as though he’s aware of the quiet chaos pressurized inside your skull and he’s trying to alleviate it.    
  
He makes everything so surprisingly easy, even the most serious of topics can be brought up and talked about without prompting you to want to flee the room, the town, the country and the planet. This quality of his makes you daydream that maybe, people who can be reasoned with and gone into relationships with do exist and aren’t the unicorns your mind made them out to be. 

Even talking about the kind of life choices that make conversation stall at family barbecues is easy with Chris.    
  
“So how come you’re still single? You’re one of the warmest and funniest women I’ve met.” He asks.    
  
You look at him, wondering where he’s going with this and why now. It’s Friday evening and you’re about to break out the ice cream bucket and choose a movie together.    
  
But he’s leaving in less than three days. So why not be honest. The alternative is too tiresome and unnecessary. 

“Maybe it’s because I see through bullshit and smoke screens and because I finally came to terms with the fact that no one or all too few people are willing to love me without editing me first. For instance, as everyone assures me, the ship has sailed on meeting a good man and giving him kids because I’m too old now, however not old enough to be left alone about the whole, it’s different when they’re your own or no woman is complete unless she’s a mother. Along with the overt warning that no good man will love a woman who doesn’t want kids.” 

“But why don’t you want kids? Everyone I know has kids, even my friend Tara has them, it’s what comes naturally after you get married!” Chris says, throwing his hands up like you just announced yourself as a believer in the flat earth doctrine. 

“That’s terrifying, Chris, and if you haven’t given it enough thought to see that, don’t force a poor woman to have your kids because you think they’re something that just happens. You know what just happens? Night coming after day, rainbows after rain, puppies growing into dogs. Kids is something you really have to want and be ready to go after with everything you have. Kids are strangers who haven’t been asked if they want to live in your house, with you wielding power of life and death over them until they are 18 or even after that. So everyone who has kids just because or to fit in with the other parents at the workplace is a self-absorbed douchebag who should not be subjecting anyone to their forced company for a couple of decades.” You say and shrug. “Now you can see for yourself why I’m single. And it’s fine. I would love to come across someone who thinks being with me and me only is more than enough.” 

“Well, you’re not wrong. I kinda got used to the thought because ever since I turned a certain age, everyone especially the press keep asking me if I wanna get married and have kids and when you’re in Hollywood and work for Disney you get blackballed, sometimes for life, if you don’t publicly align yourself with family values on every occasion. But between you and me, I also didn’t think it was possible to meet someone with whom I felt complete and as long as I have that feeling, I couldn’t care less if there are kids or not in the equation. Now, if you suggested I knock someone up right now, I’d be against it - although everyone is tick-tocking at me too. I’m at a point in life where I feel good. Happy and at peace. I’m not ready to give that up yet.”   
  
“You don’t have to give anything up. Your hypothetical kids don’t exist and won’t suffer if you don’t bring them into this life. Which, by the way, is going the way of Snowpiercer, fast. We done fucked up our world and no one’s looking for solutions. What sort of a maniac would I have to be to abandon people I claim to love to a future so bleak?”   
  
“Let’s not over-dramatize. Things are still OK.” Chris says, though not very convinced.    
  
“I mean sure, you didn’t notice that everything is more expensive and in short supply. Cocoa trees no longer make fruit and die out because climate change ruined their environment. There’s no more fish in the sea because we’ve killed 90% of it. Large animals have no habitat left. Just because you can still afford to buy organic raspberries in Whole Foods in Boston doesn’t mean anyone else still can.”   
  
“I won’t contradict you on that but… why should you or I give any fucks? No one else does. Everyone’s popping out kids by the batch. Did you know there’s been an advancement in IVF technology that’s super expensive and available only to the richest couples? They can get pregnant with multiples right away, and the woman gets induced early so she doesn’t lose her Hollywood figure and gets a tummy tuck in the same sitting so she can then tell everyone she worked out and dieted to look like that and oh, the twins were totally God’s gift to her they just happened to match her design to a t, hashtag: blessed.”  Chris says. “I’m just saying if you have money you can buy yourself a totally different experience of pregnancy and parenthood.” 

“Yeah but then my producer-director-husband is still gonna be caught touching boys in some skanky club on the other side of the world and that’s not really what anyone wants for their family, do they?”    
  
“Are you thinking of someone in particular?” Chris asks, giving you a sly grin. Obviously,  _ he _ is.        

“No. Like I said before, people will not miss an opportunity to be entitled assholes. People in positions of power even less so.” You shrug. “Also, I don’t care what tech is available. Look at me. I’m not going to magically turn into Charlize Theron after I give birth. Still gonna me by now-self, only with incontinence and other issues whose likelihood I don’t even want to entertain.”   
  
Chris takes a scoop of ice cream from the bucket that’s between the two of you and licks the melty goodness from his spoon in silence before he replies.    
  
“You know, you and my Ma would get along great. She loves being a mom, but she told me how serious choosing to be a parent is. I figured I knew better and that being an actor and getting to work the way I do, my situation is special and things would happen more easily. A part of me totally sees it’s a dick move to push a woman you love to give you kids just because you want them. On the other hand, I worry I’ll be isolated and alone, excluded from the main conversation because I can’t relate. And because… no one has come along and announced themselves as the love of my life.” 

You shrug and sigh.    
  
“It’s not how it works, Chris. You need to decide who is worthy of the position at your side. They might not fit your dream mate checklist and it’s going to be scary as fuck but you’ll have to decide if what you can see on the other side is worth the jump over the abyss.”   
  
“How come you don’t date around? Someone has got to be half decent…”  

“I guess I’ve let myself turn to stone along the way. I got hurt over and over and no one gave me back even 10% of what I put in and while I admit that’s normal and no one owes me their love or even their respect, I also have the freedom to not put up with that shit forever. I don’t know. Does that make me the biggest narc ever? Maybe. But I would love to be touched by a little of that magic other people talk about… when they bump into someone in Whole Foods and they end up staying married for life. Or the man rubbing his balls on your windshield when you’re out dogging turns out to be the next breakout movie star and because you gave him the time of day you’re now swimming in money and getting eaten out by the most desired man in Hollywood.”    
  
Chris looks at you incredulously and his eyes grow big and round.    
  
“Girl… I know exactly who you mean… and… shade.” 

“All tea, all shade. I stand by it.”   
  
“You know, even what looks like magic from the outside has been carefully engineered by the more interested party. If you know what I mean.” Chris says. “You feel me?”    
  
“I do. That’s kind of totally depressing.”    
  
“Nah, look at it this way: if one woman can manipulate a man, so can any other. And, my favourite part, it means that it won’t last. Nothing lasts when built on a foundation of lies. The truth always comes out.”    
  
You watch him as he says those words and you realise how deeply different the worlds you live in are, and how pink and comfy his reality is.    
  
The thing is, people always lie. People get their way and change others’ lives irreversibly and move on with no qualms. This is why good things happen to bad people - because they don’t feel they are robbing anyone of anything by making them bend to their wishes. If they’re happy, that must mean everyone is happy, otherwise they’d say something, right? 

“Uh, Chris, my sweet summer child.” You say, sighing. “There are many men who believe their children were miracles that came about against all odds… and then there are their wives who secretly decided a baby would keep the marriage from falling apart.”   
  
“That’s douchey… but it still comes out in the end.” Chris gasps and protests.    
  
“Yeah, when the kid moved out and has their own job. Or never. You know, we’re not all Edgar Allan Poe characters, turning ourselves in, given enough time for our guilt to grow. Some of us feel no guilt and have no problem getting away even with murder if it helps us be in a good place long term.”   
  
“I’d never lie to a spouse like this. Why would you keep someone who wants to leave you?” He asks. “It’s unfair to both.”    
  
“You may care about justice and fairness, but few other people do. You deserve someone who doesn’t need to lie and manipulate you into doing what they want you to do. You deserve someone you can talk things through with.”    
  
“Like we are now, right?” He asks, looking at you warmly. “This had the potential to get so explosive, but I feel like with you I can talk about anything and not get yelled at, shamed or annoyed into shutting up. You really listen.”    
  
“Eh… sometimes. But I’ll take it.” You say and push the ice cream bucket closer to him. He loves it more than you do and he should have most of it. 


	5. The Woods at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple people Friday evening fun for the Hollywood guy

On Friday evening, you decided to take him out. Nothing fancy, just a club where people get together to drink and shake their asses, two things both Chris and you are reasonably skilled at. 

Getting ready feels oddly domestic and couple-y, with Chris coming out of the bathroom with half a trimmed beard to ask you if he should wear a tee or a henley. You say you want to see the fabrics first and he gets the two items to show you.    
  
The henley, all day, every day. It’s soft, slightly loose on his frame and the open buttons at the top offer a peek at the collarbone tattoo. If you weren’t wearing make-up already, you’d suggest you stay home instead and he let you rub your face on his cotton-covered pecs all evening. 

The walk to the club is not too long, and helps settle your slight nerves. It’s the having to act as a host/guide and showing Chris a glimpse of your town’s nightlife.    
  
Part of you is scared that it’s a dark, crowded place, with few exits and what if someone recognizes him and starts a mass hysteria, and he or other people get injured? What if someone offers to sell him drugs?    
  
But once you’re there, Chris defuses your fears with his dorky, chill way of being at parties. He gets beer and Breezers for the two of you, and you drink your first round before hitting the dancefloor. He insists, because “trust in God, but still lock your car”.    
  
After that, you’re just two white folks shaking their asses more or less aesthetically to the hits of the hour. 

It’s such easy, light fun. You feel safe, the place you are in enhances the mood with its hard basslines, fat beats and surreal lighting effects. The river of time flows around you for a while, not over you.    
  
The party goes on until late in the morning of the next day, but Chris and you get tired and need out at 3 a.m., which is fine. This way, you get the best of both worlds: you’ve been partying, but you’ll also be rested enough to hit the farmer’s market in the morning - at around ten. 

The road back is even nicer than the one to the club. It’s night and there are very few sounds breaching the silence, mostly just owls here and there. The woods are dark and mysterious on either side of the path back into town and you feel safe in the knowledge that you’re the most dangerous thing out at that hour. The wild boars and lynx that live in those woods want nothing to do with people and the deer, bunnies, foxes and hedgehogs just go about their business undisturbed by people.    
  
After a few instances of pairs of glowing eyes appearing and disappearing against the dark backdrop of the forest, you feel Chris slip his hand in yours. Not around it, in it, so you squeeze it and pat it with your free hand briefly before leading the way. It’s not like he’s afraid of the woods, because there are forests around his home town too. But these are not *his* woods and he wonders what goes on in the darkness beyond the rows or light posts. 

Dodger greets you both with a relieved howl. He was a good boy and slept on your sofa while you were gone, but the poor little guy missed his daddy and can’t have enjoyed being left alone in a place that isn’t his home.   
  
So out for a middle of the night walk you go, with man and doggo.

“You know, I really loved tonight. I haven’t had this much fun since I was in highschool I think. It was so great just going to a club and not having anyone stop me all the time or people wanting pics of me in front of a bathroom stalls. But I’m a dick. It wasn’t just that.  I felt… I felt something I thought I’d never get to feel again in this life.”   


“The feeling that time stretched around you and gave you a little freebie?” You offer.    
  
“Yeah, and… that lightness of just being happy in the now, for yourself, with nothing weighing you down or gnawing at you at the back of your mind. That was awesome. And we didn’t even take any pills for that. Or smoke pot. Which, by the way, did you want some? I could have gotten us some.”   
  
“Eh, thanks but I’m good. I had a great time without enhancers.” You say. “Besides I need all my brain cells and have none to spare,” you add in reply to the ecstasy part. 

“That was awesome in and of itself - I haven’t had fun without enhancers in ages! If it’s not E or something, it’s pot, and if it’s not pot it’s alcohol. I think I forgot nice things are also possible without.” 

Then, while Dodger goes ahead and explores, Chris takes your hand in his and squeezes.    
  
“Thank you. I was supposed to show you a good time, yet I’m the one getting the most out of this week.” He says apologetically.    


“Oh, don’t worry, I am getting my share of treats too.” You say. 

His hand is warm and soft around yours and the moment itself is as beautiful as it’s ever gotten so far for you so you continue the walk in silence and with a knot up in your throat holding tears at bay, just barely.    
  
Back at your place, you both shower quickly before getting into bed and setting an alarm to wake up in time to go to the market.    
  
About one hour in, you hear your door open and Dodger lets himself in. From the guest room, you hear Chris do that tired people snore that everyone gets sometimes. In the dark, you smile at realizing even his snore isn’t enough to piss you off, although if it was anyone else, it would. 

Your heart is such a merc. 


End file.
